


of the world and the way it makes you feel afraid

by lantur



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Royai Week, Royai Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantur/pseuds/lantur
Summary: Riza works for the Fuhrer for two months before she cracks.--Written for Royai Week 2020, "Little Pistol."
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 30
Kudos: 144





	of the world and the way it makes you feel afraid

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the lyrics at the very end are taken from "Little Pistol," by Mother Mother. It's the prompt for Day 2 of Royai Week, and it's an absolutely fabulous song. I highly recommend giving it a listen.

Riza works for the Fuhrer for two months before she cracks. 

The Fuhrer always dismisses her late. It’s the most petty of the several little power plays that he engages in. He always has her work late, and not in a predictable fashion, either. Sometimes he keeps her half an hour past five; sometimes he keeps her until eight or nine at night, despite the fact that she reports for duty at seven every morning. 

Riza hadn’t minded the occasional late nights when she had been her Colonel’s assistant, but this is different. This is so different.

Half the times that Bradley asks her to stay late, he only has the most menial, inconsequential tasks for her to do. Hardly anything of urgency. It’s nothing more than a reminder that she is utterly at his disposal. Riza is careful never to reveal her irritation or impatience, or her worry for Hayate, alone for so many hours and probably in desperate need of a walk. She schools her expression into blankness. She doesn’t pick at the skin underneath her fingernails or tap her fingertips against the desk, or twirl her pen through her fingers (a habit she had unconsciously picked up from her Colonel, and never realized until Havoc had pointed it out. She misses Havoc.) She doesn’t look at the clock. 

On this Friday evening, two months to the day that she had first reported for duty in his office, the Fuhrer dismisses her at half past six. “Have a good evening, Lieutenant.” Bradley glances away from the window, giving her a small, genial smile, the corners of his visible eye crinkling in the same way Lieutenant General Grumman’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. It looks so human.

Riza salutes him. “You as well, Fuhrer.” 

She walks home briskly, her heart in her throat. The sound of the cars speeding past on the road makes her startle. When one of them honks, she nearly jumps out of her skin. 

Normally, spending time with Hayate, stroking his soft fur, admiring the shine of his warm brown eyes, watching his tail wag and his nose twitch as they walk together, is enough to soothe her. Center her. It doesn’t, this evening, though Riza takes him for an extra long walk. They get home and she measures food out into Hayate’s bowl and stands and watches him eat. Her shoulders feel rigid and achy, her nerves rubbed raw after another long week in such close proximity to the Fuhrer. 

Riza pets Hayate for a few minutes, and then grabs her keys and her access card to the range.

It’s nearly empty, at this time on a Friday night. Riza normally enjoys the solitude, but tonight, she keeps looking twice at every shadow.  _ No witnesses,  _ she thinks, every time. 

She stays until closing, trying to take comfort in the muffled sound of the gunshots, the subtle kickback of her weapon, the smell of the gunpowder, even the weight of the protective coverings on her ears. It normally helps her feel calmer. More in control. Tonight, when every shot hits its target, Riza just sees Lust and Gluttony in front of her, advancing on her, completely undeterred.

It’s almost ten when the range closes. She should go home and try to sleep. She can’t remember the last time she had a good night’s rest. It must have been back in East City, before Hughes was killed. But she isn’t tired. The shooting had burned time, but not energy.

It’s impulsive, it’s not like her - at least, not like the old her - but Riza takes the train, the Sanderson Line, to the very outskirts of Central. She gets off at the last stop on the line and she just wanders, for a while, her hands shoved in the pockets of her coat. It’s a chilly night, and she lets her hair down to warm her neck, relieved that she had thought to put on tall boots underneath her skirt before leaving her apartment. The warmth of the Nimble Bar, when she steps in, is a welcome sensation. 

Riza takes in her surroundings at a glance. It’s a large space, but somewhat run-down. It’s dimly lit and smoky - good for privacy. It’s busy, but not too busy, which is another point in its favor. The deciding factor is its distance from Central Command. She doesn’t see a single familiar face here. 

Thankfully, no one pays her much attention as she walks up to the bar and orders her drink, or when she takes it back to a corner booth far away from the billiards tables. It’s white lightning moonshine, stronger than what she normally likes. She hasn’t had this particular drink since returning from Ishval. Something inside Riza is telling her that this isn’t a good idea, but she ignores it. 

It’s good moonshine. It’s smooth. It’s potent. It  _ burns.  _ Riza curls her hands around the glass and takes a deep breath, and she savors the way it burns all the way down. It nearly hurts. 

She sits there, nursing her drink, and she lets it all wash over her. She thinks of the Fuhrer, and of Selim Bradley, and Gluttony and Lust, and the Philosopher’s Stones, and Ishval. 

Riza finishes the glass faster than she should, and goes back for a second. She is close to finishing her second glass, and is staring into it, contemplating ordering a third, when a man slides into the booth beside her, without even asking if she would like company.

Riza looks up a second too late, and her angry words die on her lips. 

“Drinking alone, Elizabeth?” Roy gives her an affable smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s very unlike you.”

He’s wearing his usual, overly formal, civilian clothes, and he looks so out of place here that Riza blinks, wondering if the moonshine is hitting her too hard (now that she thinks about it, she hadn’t had dinner), and whether she’s seeing things.  _ Colonel,  _ she almost says. She catches herself, just in time, but she can’t bring herself to think of a codename. 

“What are you doing here?” This isn't one of his usual haunts. As far as she knows, he’s never conducted business on this side of town before. It’s clear on the other end of the city from Chris Mustang’s bar. 

“I came to find you, of course.” Roy studies her glass. “Is that white moonshine?”

He sounds a little shocked. Riza closes her eyes. “How did you know I was here?”

“Vanessa was here, on a date, when you came in.” Roy’s voice is low. “She gave me a call. She said that you looked down - that you were probably having troubles with your new man - and suggested that I check in.”

She doesn’t even know what time it is. It could be close to midnight. It probably took him half an hour to drive here from his place. Riza rubs her temples. “You shouldn’t have.” Her voice doesn’t sound quite right. It’s less steady than usual. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” 

She doesn’t want to argue. She’s too tired, all of a sudden, for that. Riza lifts her glass for another sip, and her Colonel presses a gentle hand to her arm, lowering it. “I think that you’ve had enough for tonight.”

She wants to snap at him, like he has done to her whenever she’s tried to cut him off - so many times, over the past years. Especially after Ishval, and after Hughes. But Roy’s hand is lingering on her arm, and he’s sitting so close that she can smell his aftershave and feel the warmth radiating off him, and he’s wearing that dark coat he always wears, the one that’s as familiar to her as anything she owns. Riza feels the tears burn the back of her eyes. She sets the glass down. She presses the heels of both of her hands to the skin underneath her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“That’s better.” Roy pauses, and she wishes he wasn’t sitting so close. The temptation to lean against him, to press her aching head to his shoulder, is almost overwhelming. “I don’t think I need to ask you what’s wrong.”

“No.” Riza actually laughs, though she feels anything but happy, and she wipes her eyes as discreetly as she can. “You don’t.” 

“Talk to me, Elizabeth,” Roy says quietly. “Has anything happened? Did he do anything to you?”

Their shoulders are mere inches from one another. She feels how tense he is; how tightly wound. Riza shakes her head. “It’s more about what I want to do than anything he’s done.” She struggles with the words; with her thoughts. “Every day. Every hour. I think of going to the mansion, at night, and burning it down. I’d pour gasoline around the perimeter, first. All it would take after that is a couple of matches and a lighter.” 

A lighter. Riza thinks of Havoc, and the desire to cry returns. She looks at her Colonel. From the expression on his face, he seems to have had the same thought. 

“Fire kills them,” Riza explains, as quietly as she can. “You remember what you did at the Third Laboratory. But my guns are useless against them. I’m useless against them.”  _ You wouldn’t be,  _ a voice inside her says, one that sounds like her father,  _ if you’d only been able to learn alchemy from me; if only you weren’t such a hopeless pupil--  _ and Riza nearly sobs. 

She can’t remember the last time she had seen her Colonel look so concerned. Maybe it was on the day that they had all received their transfer paperwork. He moves as if he would touch her shoulder, and then stops short. “Elizabeth--”

“I can’t accept it.” Riza buries her face in her hands. “I can’t get my head around it.”

“What? What is it?”

“ _ All  _ of it, Roy.” She hasn’t called him by his first name in ten years, but it just slips out, and she can’t put it back. “The fact that he is - what he is. Ishval. For all the years since then, I thought he was a person, a person who gave that order, a  _ misguided  _ person, a person who made a terrible, cruel decision, but a  _ person.  _ To learn that everything in Ishval happened not just because a human made a terrible decision - as all humans are capable of, as even you and I would be capable of - but because it was  _ calculated  _ is just…” Riza chokes. “He used us to murder the Ishvalans, not out of his own human cruelty and frailty - but as a deliberate sacrifice to get what he wanted.”

“I know.” Roy’s hands tighten into fists. “I know.”

“I can’t stand it.” It’s taking everything in her not to cry. “I hate it. It makes me  _ want  _ to kill. And all of the senior leadership who know the truth of what he is, who  _ accept  _ having him as the leader of our country, using the people of Amestris as pawns in his game…” Riza’s stomach heaves, and she bites the inside of her cheek to suppress the wave of nausea that washes over her. “Every day, I have to sit in on his meetings with them and take notes, and there’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more than to take out my gun and put a bullet in each of their brains. It scares me, how much I want it. I’ve never… Killing is something I do, it’s something I’ve done for years, but I’ve never  _ wanted  _ to do it so badly before. Does that make sense?” 

There’s such compassion and empathy in Roy’s gaze. “It does.”

“I don’t just want to put a bullet between his eyes. Even if that would do anything.” Riza rakes her fingernails through her hair, against her scalp. It doesn’t burn in quite the same way the moonshine does, but it’s an acceptable substitute. “I want him to burn, and to suffer. Like Lust did.”

“I know,” Roy repeats. “But you have to let this go.”

The words, the sentiment, is so unexpected from him that Riza stares, taken aback. “What?”

“Anger isn’t your vice. It’s not your burden to carry. It’s mine, and it always has been. It’s not…” Roy hesitates. “It’s not what’s best for you. I know it’s difficult, but you have to put this aside and focus on surviving. It’s going to be a long winter, as it is. It’s going to be a hundred times longer and harder if you’re dealing with all these thoughts every day.” 

A number of retorts rise to her lips, and Riza swallows them down. “You think that you can bear this burden better than I can?”

“I always have.” Roy rests his hand on the table, a hair’s breadth from hers. “With you to keep me in check. With you to pull me back whenever I’m close to doing something dangerous or impulsive. It’s not an option for both of us to be so compromised.”

Riza exhales slowly. She thinks back to the past five years, since Ishval, to all the times she’s warned her Colonel against being too rash, too impatient, too bold, too borderline insubordinate to senior staff. To all the times she had chided him for drinking too much. “I’m sorry. I should have been more understanding of you, in the past.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Roy says, at once. His tone brooks no argument. “And you can let go of the idea that you’re  _ useless _ , as well. There’s nothing further from the truth. You should know how valuable you are to me.” 

“I--” Riza looks at him, and then looks away.  _ I miss you,  _ she’d almost said. Because she does. That’s the steady undercurrent that runs through every single one of her days, now. Like the background music on a radio drama or a television program. She goes about her work, taking notes at the Fuhrer’s meetings, creating his schedule for the days, making him tea, helping him prepare for his upcoming meetings, filing his paperwork, and she misses Roy Mustang, every single day. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else on your mind?” Roy presses. “While we’re here, and able to speak a little more openly then we can, closer to home?” 

He knows her so well, and Riza can’t help but smile, for the first time in what feels like months. “I miss the unit.” That’s an acceptable thing to say, and it is true. She stares at her moonshine, wishing she could finish the last sip, even though it’s really hitting her, now, and she doesn’t need any more of it. “And Rebecca. And Edward and Alphonse.” Even though she’s surrounded by the Fuhrer’s associates and the Fuhrer himself all day, and she has Hayate for company at night, she feels alone. Alone with her thoughts, her feelings, her anger, her fear. 

“They miss you too. I’m sure of it.” Riza glances at him, and Roy smiles, and this time, it does reach his eyes. “You’re not alone, I promise.”

Underneath the intelligence, the sharp wit, the strength of his convictions, the confidence, the charm, this is what had made her fall for Roy in the first place, more years ago than she cares to remember. His quiet, subtle kindness. It’s been so long since her world has had any kindness, any tenderness, any soft moments at all, and Riza looks away from him abruptly. Her breath actually catches in her throat, embarrassingly, and she hopes he hadn’t noticed it.

Roy reaches out without another word and rests a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles against it, and Riza goes still, because this isn’t something they do. They never touch, unless it’s necessary. But it feels so comforting, so soothing, and all the breath leaves her body in a shuddering exhale. She lets Roy draw her close against him, holding her like a man would hold his girlfriend, like he’s sheltering her, like he would protect her. Riza presses her cheek against the wool of his coat and breathes him in. He’s still rubbing her back, and she can feel the weight and warmth of his hand through her coat and her sweater, and she’s had sex less intimate than this feels.

Riza rests her aching head against his shoulder. “You know,” she murmurs, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Maybe there’s one small silver lining to all this.”

“Hmm?” Roy smooths her hair out of the way, moving his hand further up her back, and Riza closes her eyes, savoring the sensation. 

“We’re not in the same direct chain of command anymore,” she says, as quietly as she can. “You’re not my commanding officer. Not for the rest of this winter. Not until spring.”

Roy’s hand stills for a moment, and then he resumes. “That’s a good point.” His voice wavers slightly. 

She pulls back, just enough to look him in the eye. They’re close enough to kiss. Under normal circumstances, she would never be so bold, but there’s a great deal of white moonshine in her system and all of the want, the need, the craving for destruction and violence that had dominated her earlier, pressing into her ribs with every breath she took, is taking a different direction. 

“Take me home, Roy,” Riza says softly. That’s the second time she’s called him by name in a decade, now. She has to be careful. She loves the way it feels in her mouth, on her lips. It’s strangely addictive. 

Roy closes his eyes briefly, as if to shield himself against whatever he sees in hers. “You’re drunk, Elizabeth.” 

“That doesn’t change anything.” 

Roy opens his eyes, and she can see his frustration, his indecision, as plainly as if it had been written all over his face. His hand is still on her back, thumb caressing down her shoulder blade. “It does.” He takes a deep breath, and she can see it on him, that he’s come to a decision. “We’ll meet at Madame Christmas’s bar tomorrow at nine. For now, though, let me take you back to your place so that you can rest.” 

It’s what she’s wanted - what both of them have wanted - for so long. It’s a win, after a devastating streak of losses. A silver lining amidst the gathering storm. Riza nods. Roy stands, and offers her his hand. The world spins alarmingly when she rises to her feet. She takes his hand, grateful for the support, and they walk out together, into the cold night. 

-

_ and I, well, I want what's best for me / and I, I think I know just what that means / just what that means _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I was definitely in my feelings while writing parts of this because I love how Riza looks out for Roy, obviously, but I also love to think about how he looks out for her. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed reading! I'd love to know what you thought. :)


End file.
